here,
of failure--
it looks different
to each of us.
In the words of Cesare Pavese, we do not remember days; we remember moments. Fourteen days have passed since the Nimrod conference. Understandably, my memories of the day are fleeting. What I remember of the day is jogged by the bullet point entries made in my Moleskine notebook.
I remember moments.
I'll never forget a stranger's telling me I look just like Natalie Merchant.
And I'll see David Wroblewski, author of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, with his shiny bald head, a big smile, and crisp white shirt, greeting attendees crammed in the conference room for the opening panel session with a jubilant: "Do you know how many standing-room only audiences a writer sees? This is great!"
Attendance was up this year, and attendees ranged in age from adolescent to octogenerian.
The conference theme centered on "Spinning Legends, Telling Truths." It is the central irony of the written word that truth is conveyed through the fiction of a construct, whether that rhetorical construct is a story, a poem, or quite another form. As one participant expressed it, "Literature is shaped truth."
I remember Jude Nutter asserting it's okay to tell a lie in serving the truth. Is she right? How do you know when you've carried the lie too far?
I remember Colum McCann's paraphrasing Samuel Beckett's admonition: Fail better. You have to take risks in life and writing. His formula for success: 70% talent + 100% effort. How many people do you know who would set off on a bicycle ride across the United States to overcome writer's block? Or spend a year and a half in the New York subway to experience the lifestyle that they will be writing about?
As McCann advises, "Be promiscuous in your research. Use obscure details that are true. Tell the stories of characters relegated to the corners of society." And he does.
He speaks of the power fictional characters can hold over our imaginations: "I know Edgar Sawtelle better than I know anyone in this room!"
And these days, I'm getting better acquainted with Edgar Sawtelle myself. Ever since Ann reviewed the novel last fall, I've had it on my must-reads list. I knew the time had come when an editor I met with at Nimrod huge had this to say about my writing: "Your imagery is every bit as good as Edgar Sawtelle. Have you read it?" I figured I should see what I'm up against. Oh, it's good alright; that Wroblewski knows a thing or two about writing. But while my imagery might compare on some level, my narrative skills are nowhere near.
I, for one, need to learn to fail. Better. More often. I need to remember those moments of failure, along with the moments of inspiration and success. If I'm not willing to fail, am I actually taking any risks? It wasn't as if I set out to look like Merchant or write like Wroblewski, but somehow being compared to them sets the bar higher for my own craft. And if I fail, it will be for trying to jump too high.
And maybe, just maybe, in trying, I'll actually learn to jump higher.
Where have you failed in your writing, and what are doing to fail better the next time around?
Ever tried.
Ever failed.
No matter.
Try again.
Fail again.
Fail better.
~Samuel Beckett
(Beckett's advice has even inspired a literary journal. Who'd have thought?)
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